


Once More

by felandaris



Series: Ever After [20]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Consensual Sex, Double Penetration, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Finger Sucking, Humor, Light Yaoi, Multi, Oral Sex, Post-Canon, Public Sex, Smut, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-02
Updated: 2015-07-16
Packaged: 2018-04-07 04:24:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4249176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/felandaris/pseuds/felandaris
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cullen. Quizzie. Alistair. Last time. <a href="http://cullenstairshenanigans.tumblr.com/post/123024258798/once-more-1-2-cullen-x-alistair-x-trevelyan">Art!</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Surprise

**Author's Note:**

> Final threesome adventure after [_Diplomatic Ties_](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3225017/chapters/7021139), [_Musings of a Royal Bastard_ ](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3700610)and [_Occasions_](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3225017/chapters/7021139), at the end of which they break up so King Alistair can pursue a political marriage to continue the bloodline.
> 
> Last in the series.

It was a splendid affair. Ornate crystal chandeliers were projecting prisms of warm light onto a colourful merry-go-round of dresses. The fickle play of bright and dim highlighted heavy jewellery around slim necks, accentuated regal uniforms and granted shelter to amorous couples.

 

Soft accents, shrill voices and lively chatter blended with the flamboyant tunes of an ensemble seated off-centre yet audible to the distinguished ears. Tender pianissimo notes, hardly a background noise, would give way to the clarinet’s playful melodies, both stark contrast and perfect harmony to the velveteen strings. 

 

Cullen and Trevelyan had accomplished a retreat to the Winter Palace’s vestibule where they enjoyed a quiet drink atop a flight of stairs. Away from curious nobles, busy colleagues and the ever-present royal guard, they could share some time at last.

 

Trevelyan savoured the prickle of sparkling wine on her tongue. She had attended her audience with the Empress with just Leliana and Josephine, sparing Cullen the diplomatic games he was anything but fond of. They’d returned to the ballroom only to find the commander besieged by a flock of flirtatious dames, helplessly overwhelmed by their attentions. It had been a challenge to reach him through the sea of gowns ( _in her own, nonetheless!_ ), and he’d been grateful for the rescue.

 

Now that the formalities were over, their plans consisted of finishing their drink and retreating to their room. _Though_ , Trevelyan mused, _the evening might not quite end there._ Her mouth curved into a coy smile as she eyed her man up. 

 

His charcoal finery with the silken green sash was a testament to their seamstress’s skill- and his impeccable build. Complemented by miniscule golden buttons and a matching collar, the two-piece fit him like a second, flattering skin. The fine material highlighted the outline of his shoulders, hugged his slim hips and sat just tightly enough around his pert bottom. 

 

Trevelyan’s grin widened, and she took a step towards Cullen. Despite the mask he recognised her mischief, answering with his own smirk as he set his glass down on a side table. With her voluptuous skirt preventing close contact, he reached to hold her waist, leaning in for a kiss.

 

“Inquisitor Trevelyan! Commander Cullen!” Both spun around at the interruption, gawking at the figure ascending the stairs. Though a golden mask concealed half the man’s face, Trevelyan would have recognised the short quiff, the elegant nose and that voice anywhere. 

 

“King Alistair,” she tried to sound surprised rather than enthusiastic. While aware he’d also be there, she’d have never expected to see their friend, assuming him tied up in meetings all evening.

 

“Your Majesty- Alistair,” Cullen said as the men shared a short but heartfelt hug, “what pleasant surprise.”

 

“Pleasant indeed,” the king grinned, taking Trevelyan’s hand and breathing a kiss onto it. 

 

“What brings you up here?” she asked.

 

“Just thought I’d catch up ahead of my audience with the empress- which I couldn’t help but notice is scheduled after the Inquisition’s.” He shrugged in amusement. “Orlesians, eh? Always trying to make a point. Oh, and I’m sort of trying to avoid Eamon.” Alistair’s voice dropped a dramatic octave as he feigned grave seriousness. “Wishes to _brief me. Diplomatically_.” 

 

Trevelyan’s amusement was a welcome distraction from the unintentional journey her eyes had embarked upon. The implication of His Majesty’s broad chest, strong thighs and hard stomach under his finery evoked thoughts of past indulgences which, though rather appetising, were no longer appropriate. 

 

As if reading her thoughts, Cullen asked, “So will we have the honour of meeting the future queen soon?”

 

An exasperated sigh. “It’s a technicality. Because we’re not married yet, the rules of the _Game_ ,” disdain dripped from his words, “dictate she cannot yet accompany me to formal events. You should’ve seen her face when Eamon told her.”

 

“Speaking of Eamon…” Trevelyan interrupted, her eyes wandering.

 

Mild panic clouded the king’s features when he turned to see the middle-aged man approaching the stairs. 

 

A moment’s silence ensued as the three exchanged clueless looks. Then Alistair’s eyes narrowed as if struck by an idea. He stepped towards them, mumbling an apology…

 

… only to get on his knees, lift Trevelyan’s dress and disappear under it.

 

A shriek escaped her as she nearly stumbled backwards, watching helplessly how her gown’s endless layers swallowed up King Theirin of Ferelden. If there were any personal guards with him, they were either generous at granting him privacy- or he’d simply escaped them.

 

When getting dressed earlier, Cullen had joked her skirts were wide enough to hide a man. _Spot on, Commander_ , she mused as the royal advisor came closer

 

To her relief Cullen took the lead, stepping forward to greet the former Arl. “Advisor Eamon, how nice to see you again!” They shook hands, exchanging pleasantries while Trevelyan tried to ignore the figure getting comfortable under her crinoline’s roomy confines.

 

When it was her turn, she extended a shaky hand and forced herself to smile. “What brings you here?” she asked, eager to send him on his way. 

 

“I was hoping to find His Majesty ahead of his appointment with Empress Celene. You haven’t seen him by any chance?”

 

“I-I…” the words caught in her throat as the _–undoubtedly accidental-_ caress of a fingertip grazed her thigh. “I haven’t…”

 

Her eyes widened and she gasped when the brush of a single digit became the grasp of a hand sliding up her leg- _not-so accidentally_ , she had to admit. A dumbfounded blink preceded realisation- she still owed an answer. Cullen jumped in before she could launch into another series of stammers.

 

“Unfortunately we haven’t met him at all tonight. We were rather hoping to, but he appears to be _otherwise engaged._ ” A hint of sarcasm flecked his baritone.

 

Trevelyan flinched as a snicker tickled her, just before two large palms gave her buttocks a firm squeeze. 

 

Faint recollection protruded through her increasing though unwitting excitement. This wasn’t the first time she’d found herself in a precarious situation involving two certain ex-Templars. 

 

Whilst trying not to let on her growing titillation, she turned towards Cullen, as if listening.

 

“Are you enjoying your evening?” her commander asked.

 

Whatever Eamon’s response, it was lost on her. His voice, the music, all sound blurred out for a tantalising instant when a puff of air stroked her thighs, followed by…

 

_Oh, Maker-_

 

…. the insistent poking of an outstretched tongue against her smalls. Had she been nervous before, there was no mistaking the bolt of arousal surging through her now. Her corsage seemed ever so much tighter and her skin felt feverishly hot as she grew slick with lust. 

 

A second’s loss of contact had her hopeful of regaining her composure when another warm, firm press almost made her keel over. Though still covered, the delicate silk wasn’t in the way so much as it provided much-too exquisite friction. The moist muscle lapped at her again, and again, building a sinful rhythm while she was trying to follow the conversation its owner had escaped.

 

As the two men continued their chit-chat, Trevelyan’s nails dug into her palms and her teeth clenched. It took all her discipline not to moan, whimper or allow any of the other sounds building up in her throat to escape. Despite herself she was enjoying the sweet torture- which then stopped as suddenly as it had begun. The face disappeared, the hands left her and a burst of cool air hit her calves.

 

Disappointment threatened to claw at her chest _–and loins-_ at the prospect of it being over already. When the skirts closed around her again she realised her tormentor had merely gone up for air. While stifling a smile, she studied the advisor’s face to see whether he’d noticed the rustle.

 

It seemed he hadn’t. Trevelyan cursed herself for enforcing eye contact when the man’s attention turned back to her. The same instant, of course, nimble fingers undid the silken laces of her smalls.

 

“So how is the Inquisition faring in times of peace, Lady Trevelyan?” An interested question, posed at the worst of times.

 

“Well…”

 

Without any warning, the wicked, talented tongue was back- right inside her; warm, slow and deep.

 

Trevelyan reeled, catching herself on Cullen’s shoulder, breathless from the abrupt intrusion. A new wave of mortification crashed over her as the visibly concerned advisor inquired after her wellbeing. 

 

She managed a to keep a straight face, admitting to being a little tipsy. It might as well have been the truth as the blasted, blessed tongue was now thrusting into her, leaving her dizzy, drunk with desire. 

 

Visions of their previous meetings flashed in front of her; lewd images of being brought to delirious ecstasy by her two not-so-innocent chantry boys. Still, a faint unease nagged at her- _this wasn’t right. It shouldn’t be happening._ Coherent thought was becoming a challenge, so she didn’t wallow in guilt for long.

 

Another pause. This time Trevelyan was as grateful for the gulp of air as the king himself. Again he manoeuvred stealthily though she noticed Cullen’s eyes wandering. Certain her lover knew what was going on, she wondered whether he was aroused. She bit back a groan.

 

And so much for her respite-familiar hands grasped her thighs, easing them further apart. Hot breath preceded the languid lick at her pearl that had her wanting to _howl_ in delighted bliss. Instead she somehow stifled her desperate want into a hiss, clutching at her skirt as His Majesty began lapping at her. 

 

Cullen snuck a brief glance sideways, still keeping the other man engaged.

 

Trevelyan’s hips were rocking into the frisky monarch’s face, her cheeks burning a bright red and her mouth hanging open. She might have even been drooling a little- not that she cared anymore.

 

A loss of contact ensued before a pair of full lips latched on to her, tugging at her tiny bulb as white-hot lust shot through her body. When he started sucking she clutched at Cullen’s jacket, dragging him near. Her ever-alert commander placed an arm on her lower back in a casual gesture, allowing her to lean in. She felt grounded, secure and braced for whatever the man under her skirt might unleash upon her next.

 

Until a thumb pressed into her wetness, drew out and travelled up her perineum to settle on the idle opening to her…

 

“Arse!” _Surely she hadn’t just blurted that out?_

 

The look of utter shock on her opposite’s face confirmed she had indeed just yelped a more common name for her backside at the king’s advisor. Cullen’s startled expression meant she had to get out of this one alone. The hum of Alistair’s chuckle against her, meanwhile, signalled he was finding all this terribly amusing. 

 

“Arse- arsenal! The, ah, king’s whereabouts,” she stammered as his thumb pressed into her ever so slowly while the lips never stopped. “Have you tried the royal- armory!” Her voice rose a pitch when the digit pushed past a wreath of muscles, stretching her, making a thousand undiscovered nerve endings sing all at once. To make it worse ( _or more delightful_ ), he was now moaning with her nubbin between his lips.

 

Her next words were but a throaty rasp. Goose bumps were blooming all over her skin, taut nipples straining against her bodice while her eyes watered with pleasure that wanted to be screamed out.

 

“I hear His Majesty is rather fond of Orlesian weaponry,” she all but purred, earning an amused snort against her nethers, “he might have gone to inspect the collection.”

 

Eamon’s eyes wandered between her and a baffled Cullen as he seemed to debate whether to be confused or offended at the blunt lie. Eventually he gave a curt nod.

 

“You’re right. I shall take my leave. Lady Trevelyan, Commander Cullen,” he spun on his heel and disappeared down the stairs.

 

Trevelyan knew she should have been ashamed at her own, uncalled-for rudeness. Instead, her relieved sigh came in perfect synch with Alistair’s.

 

She wanted to explain herself to Cullen. Tell him how much the notion of him knowing aroused her, made her crave more, so much more. 

 

No such thing ever happened as the only sound she produced was a moan, low and wanton. The royal thumb, not in one inch, twisted inside her, almost painful but so delicious. Two fingers of his other hand slipped into her moist heat while his tongue was circling her nub now, daring her to go over the edge.

 

She took a moment to see Cullen, who had moved to stand in front of her- a dark, predatory gleam in his eyes. No explanations were needed here.

 

He put an arm around her, drawing her close so his lips brushed against her earlobe.

 

His groan, hoarse and laced with greed, made her pearl twitch. “So this whole time you were being pleasured, right under my eyes? What’s he doing now- licking at you? Or perhaps pumping his fingers into and out?” When she didn’t respond, understanding flashed in his eyes. “Both. I see.” 

 

Trevelyan gasped as Cullen pushed her hand into his crotch where it was greeted by his ironclad, pulsing length. “Maker forgive me- I was so close to shoving that man out of the way so I could bend you over the rail. I wanted to lift those fancy skirts and take you, right before those aristocratic fools. While Alistair’s still having his way with you, of course.” His jaw clenched as if struggling to control himself. “I still want to.”

 

The heavenly tingle of an approving hum. Then quick, soft flicks alternated with long, deep sucks, and she felt on fire and full, so full. Cullen let her lean into his shoulder, allowing her to surrender to pure, uninhibited lust.

 

The scandal of their situation only strummed her arousal. _Ferelden’s king, snubbed by Her Majesty the empress. Andraste’s Herald, being shown to new heights by said king, barely shielded from the eyes of the most important Thedosian royalty. The Inquisition’s commander, whispering glorious indecencies to his leader._ She clutched at Cullen’s hair, his finery, anywhere, while grinding into Alistair’s far-too skilful mouth. Somewhere deep in her core a faint tingle turned into an insistent pull before it seized all of her, and she began to tremble, quiver, shake. 

 

Cullen’s voice was rough, dripping with greed. “That’s right, love. Let go. I want to see our king’s pretty face all wet with your sweet juice.” 

 

A strangled cry tore from her throat just as, in the distance, the strings broke into an exuberant forte. Her back arched as Cullen’s salacious growl and Alistair’s thorough ministrations sent her spiralling, _at last._ Pleasure poured from her as she came, _and came_ , for the longest, most delectably torturous moment.

 

When climax loosened its grip both men caught her as her legs gave in. As reality crept back into her lust-hazed mind, Cullen was stroking her pinned tresses, planting kisses onto her forehead.

 

She lay in his arms for a bit, finding her breath and enjoying his warmth. Eventually Cullen had a quick look around. ”The air is clear.”

 

A final shuffle and His Majesty emerged from under her, his hair ruffled, cheeks flushed- and his lips swollen and glistening.

 

He produced something from a clutched fist –her knickers!- then brought the handful of silk to his mouth. Eyes closed, he patted himself dry, humming and smacking his lips as if savouring the last mouthful of a particularly delicious meal. Trevelyan swallowed, watching her smalls disappear into Alistair’s pocket as he cocked an eyebrow. “A souvenir, if you’ll allow.”

 

Though she wanted to lunge at both men, Trevelyan reluctantly broached the one issue casting a shadow over their reunion.

 

“What about your betrothed?” she asked, almost wishing not to hear the answer.

 

Though Alistair’s voice remained steady, a shadow of pain ghosted across his face. “Believe me- I wouldn’t be here if those things mattered…“ A sad whisper as he looked away, “… to _her._ ”

 

Before either Trevelyan or Cullen could summon an appropriate reaction, Alistair smacked his forehead, dropping to his knees once more to reach beneath her skirts. “Can’t be leaving _that,_ ” he grinned as he stood up and put his mask back on.

 

He reached into his pockets to retrieve gloves she hadn’t even noticed him wearing then gave a brief bow.

 

“So- shall I see you in an hour then? My quarters?”

 

Without waiting for an answer, King Alistair turned around, leaving the two staring after him as he skipped down the stairs then blended into the crowd. 

 

Confused surprise lingered as the two lovers glanced at one another. Then the corner of Cullen’s mouth curved as he picked up their drinks, and they shared a toast and a knowing smile.

 

_The night was far from over._


	2. Bliss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen. Quizzie. Alistair. Last time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had the notes for Cullen and Alistair's scene since Jan. Only felt right to include now, so zere you go.
> 
> [Seen the art?](http://cullenstairshenanigans.tumblr.com/post/123585781337/once-more-1-2-cullen-x-alistair-x-trevelyan)

The hour dragged on for a cruel eternity. They avoided colleagues and companions so as not to rouse suspicion and remained atop the stairs, accompanied by a drink and idle chatter.

 

Trevelyan half-expected another mischievous conspiracy and asked Cullen about his possible involvement. It turned out he was just as surprised- and excited- as she. The prospect of reuniting with King Alistair for another night’s indulgence made her heart race and her stomach flutter.

 

When it was time, Cullen grasped her wrist. A sparkle lit up his eyes, reminiscent of their first time at the Winter Palace, out on the balcony. “Ready?” 

 

She cocked her head, hooking an arm into his. “Lead the way, Commander.”

 

Guards were only present at the guest wing’s entrance, granting visitors privacy in their rooms. Her heart raced as she knocked on an inconspicuous door, one step away from sinful trinity.

 

A sheer endless moment passed before it swung open- and there he was. Loose linen pants and a halfway buttoned shirt had replaced the finery, his feet were bare and he’d lost the mask, but not the smile. Maker, but he was gorgeous, matched in his masculine elegance only by the man beside her. _And she would have them both. Again._ Trevelyan’s chest swelled with pride and her insides tingled.

 

It took the raspy clearing of a throat and a melodic chuckle for her to realise she was gawking at the king’s chest.

 

Embarrassment turned her ears crimson and brought on a sheepish grin. “Good evening, Your Majesty.”

 

“A fine evening indeed,” he stood aside. The fleeting warmth of Alistair’s hand on her back sent a shiver through her as she walked in.

 

The door clicked shut, allowing her to look around. Elegant furniture stood heavy on fine carpet, much like in their own room. Alistair’s bed, however, was almost twice as big, decorated with a myriad of fluffy cushions and topped with a huge canopy. _Quite the arrangement for someone travelling alone,_ Trevelyan mused. _Was this part of the Game too?_ She stifled a giggle at the irony of it being put to good use tonight, unbeknownst to their distinguished hosts.

 

On the desk she caught sight of a small stone pendant sitting next to a pile of folded clothes. _So he still wore it._

 

Quiet stares lingered a tad too long. “So,” Cullen offered eventually, scratching the back of his neck, “where do we begin?”

 

Alistair accepted his cue. “Since the night is short and we're all departing tomorrow morning,” he grinned, “I suggest we get the two of you out of these admittedly flattering clothes.”

 

Without further ado he was behind Trevelyan, fingertips brushing upon her waist in a tentative, uncertain motion. When she nodded, he grasped her, pulling her in. For a while they stood just enjoying the moment, each other and their unexpected reunion.

 

Trevelyan only realised her eyes had closed when Alistair’s sing-song broke the silence.

 

“Will you do us the honour and lose that finery, Commander?” A smile reverberated in his voice, along with something else- something humourless, serious, _carnal._

 

After a second’s hesitance Cullen complied, removing first his gloves then his boots. When the sash had dropped and he started on his jacket, both spectators paid close attention. The commander grinned as his fingers worked on the small fastenings.

 

A fingertip brushed against her neck. “May I?” She nodded, holding Cullen’s gaze as Alistair began unpinning her up-do, rolling each shiny strand between his fingers. 

 

When her hair was down, gentle hands wandered to work on the laces across her back. Cullen was glaring now, following the décolleté of her dress as it sank, exposing another fraction of skin at a time.

 

Likewise, she examined every bared inch of him. Though she’d seen him undress dozens of times, she would never tire of the seductive display of layers being peeled from his luscious body. 

 

Never in her life could she watch this man enough- the flat, puckered nipples, the clearly defined abdomen, the hard ridge of his Adonis belt. She bit her lip, then groaned as his trousers sank down, revealing a most inviting bulge. The same instant a shock of cool air hit her chest as her dress gave way, leaving her fully exposed to Cullen’s heated stare.

 

Before she could react, a warm body pressed against her, covered only at the crotch. She couldn’t tell when he’d shed his clothes- not that it mattered for a second.

 

A sigh escaped her as she leaned into the broad expanse of Alistair’s chest, delighting in the caress of his fingertips. Her hands found his thighs, thumbs tracing shapes on smooth skin that sat on tight muscles. His scent of soap and spice engulfed her, like a welcome home, a reminder they were here, free to relish what they’d believed forever confined to memory.

 

“I’ve missed these,” Alistair purred as he cupped the supple handfuls of her breasts, catching her peaks in a gentle tug. Trevelyan’s nails dug into his legs, her backside grinding against him. She wet her lips when her buttocks found a growing hardness.

 

But it seemed he wasn’t quite done, for he let her go to join Cullen, who’d been watching in curious concentration. 

 

“And these,” he elicited a surprised wince, smacking a buttock without warning, “These I’ve missed, too.”

 

“Did you?” Cullen cocked an eyebrow as his hands settled on the king’s shoulders in a forgotten yet natural gesture. 

 

Pulling each other close, the men’s cheeks touched as their hands roamed. Once again they acted out their little ritual, put on a display to get her ready and wanting.

 

With a firm grasp on his arse, Alistair peppered kisses on Cullen’s scar. He gasped when white teeth tugged at his bottom lip. Then Cullen sucked, and Alistair groaned. A glance, a sharp breath, and their mouths were on each other, seeking, smacking, slurping. Trevelyan swallowed. 

 

Hands were groping now, hips had begun rocking and lust hung over their feverish exploration, thick and heavy.

 

Realisation struck her. This was no mere act. These two men _wanted_ each other. The play of tongues, the sway of hips, the little moans; all carried a primal hunger that made her nipples strain and her cunt throb watching them. Unable to tear her eyes off, she pattered across the room and plonked down in the nearest chair.

 

Alistair’s body was pressing into Cullen’s now, pushing him backwards until they tumbled onto the bed. King hovered over commander as they paused, shocked or perhaps awed at their own fervour. Something passed between them, a silent permission. Then Alistair straddled Cullen’s hips, fingertips tracing his wrists, up his arms, around his shoulders before settling on his chest. When a sharp nail grazed a dusky pink nipple, Cullen hissed, grabbing Alistair’s buttocks and thrusting upwards. Greed lay in His Majesty’s eyes, his breathing, his poise as his mouth wandered. Eyes locked with Cullen’s, he gave a slow lick at a hardened pebble. Cullen shuddered, his fingers digging into the king’s hips. Emboldened, Alistair nipped with his teeth, evoking a yelp. He froze.

 

They stared, trying to read each other, an unspoken question looming. Trevelyan sensed the tension, almost expecting to hear two hammering heartbeats. For an agonising moment they lay there, ragged breaths their only sound. Alistair’s tongue touched his lips in a nervous flick, but another few endless seconds passed before he spoke.

 

His voice was a broken whisper, full of doubt yet brightened by a shimmer of hope. “Do you… want this?” 

 

Silence. 

 

He swallowed. “If you don’t…”

 

A low, throaty sound cut him off. Then, with the lightning-fast precision of a lion seizing his prey, Cullen was on top of Alistair, pinning his arms with one strong hand. 

 

Heavy pants echoed as the men paused once more, lost in one another’s eyes. 

 

Then Alistair’s hands shot up, grabbing Cullen’s curls to pull him in for a drowning kiss. The commander’s body responded at once, rolling slim hips then repeating the motion, encouraged by Alistair’s sweet mewl. Trevelyan couldn’t help a groan of her own.

 

Though the knights were groping and grinding with hunger, there was an almost innocent curiosity to their motions. They resembled two boys at the peak of adolescence making their first shy experiences, exploring the other, the forbidden. Trying, tasting, gauging each reaction; fearing rejection yet fuelled by want. Trevelyan had watched them before, seen the playful caresses- but never such boyish urgency, such utter _need._ She’d hadn’t come across a more arousing sight.

 

Until Cullen’s hands tugged at the king’s smalls. Alistair obliged, yanking down the intrusive garment. Cullen’s lips curved into a smirk as his gaze traversed up and down the length of what had sprung free. A darker shade of rose, with a purple vein pulsing along its slight curve, his erection twitched under the close examination. 

 

Cullen’s underwear was next to go, and his grin widened as Alistair’s Adam’s apple bobbed at the view. Never breaking eye contact, Cullen grabbed his own shaft, stroking upwards before his thumb flicked around the head. Alistair followed his every move from under heavy eyelids.

 

Another stroke up his length, a flick of the wrist, and Cullen’s hand stilled, holding out his cock like a prize to be claimed.

 

“Do _you_ want this, Alistair?” The same question, reiterated as a seductive whisper.

 

Trevelyan watched, desperate titillation pulling at her core. No later than now did she fully understand Cullen’s fascination with watching her and Alistair. Her and Cullen’s firm attachment was never under any doubt. Yet there was a beauty in two people exploring the wonders of each other’s bodies, awed like she and Cullen still were so often. This being her alluring, bewitching knights didn’t make it any less delicious. Her poor clitoris was sitting almost painfully stiff atop her sex, begging to be touched. She leaned back, spreading her legs, but the tentative wander of her hand was cut short by a curt command. 

 

“Don’t you _dare._ ” Cullen didn’t even need to look to make her give up with a resigned sigh.

 

Her eyes widened when his palm covered his mouth and he spat, making a crude gesture look nearly elegant. Never taking his eyes off the man under him, Cullen coated himself, rocking gently.

 

He repeated the process, wetting his hand again. Alistair gasped when he realised Cullen’s intentions. A palm closed around his shaft, giving a tentative squeeze then a firm stroke. Alistair moaned like she’d never heard him do before. Cullen kissed the gentle contour of his jawline as his hips pushed down, arching his back to meet the other body. 

 

Trevelyan gaped, speechless as Alistair’s hand joined Cullen’s and they grabbed each other’s cocks, pressing them together. Dark blonde mingled with coarse ginger, buttocks flexed and flesh smacked as the men- _-lovers-_ rutted against each other. Hips lifted, legs were spread and cheeks grabbed in search of the angle, the touch that would send them both spiralling. Alistair’s sighs came in perfect harmony to Cullen’s hushed curses, their tender song of lust filling the room. 

 

The erratic movements had Trevelyan’s quim aching with neglect. From the side she had quite the perspective of those splendid, appetising shafts. She wanted them both, be stretched, _full_ of them.

 

With Alistair’s leg around his waist, Cullen grabbed both of their shafts, pumping hard. Alistair’s brow furrowed, and he slapped the commander’s arse, once, twice, urging him on. Cullen licked down his chest, sucking on a tiny nipple. Alistair moaned, a strangled falsetto, and Cullen did it again, proud of the reaction he’d evoked. 

 

“Beautiful.” His hand moved faster, harder, and there it was. Alistair’s head fell back, a sob tearing from his throat as his spine arched and he clutched at the sheets. A thick jet of white semen erupted from him, decorating the ridges of his abdominals in pearly sprinkle.

 

Trevelyan watched in utter fascination as climax shook his body, his _existence,_ leaving him a heaving, boneless, mess. When his breathing slowed, his tongue flicked across that full bottom lip. His eyes remained open just wide enough to gaze at the man above him.

 

Cullen’s fingertips grazed Alistair’s face. A quiet, intimate whisper against a flushed cheek before he clutched at himself. He tugged like a man possessed, never taking his eyes off the sluggish body in front of him as his sac tightened. It was Alistair’s name that escaped his lips when he, too, spent himself in long, heavy spurts onto the king’s chest.

 

When the tremors had subsided, he sunk onto his forearms then rolled off Alistair.

 

The heady scent of masculine pleasure surrounded their peaceful figures as the men lay still beside each other, staring at the ceiling.

 

It was Alistair who spoke first. “If the Mother back at the chantry saw this…” 

 

Cullen’s scar twitched as he nodded his understanding, still looking upwards. “A year of canticle recitations and latrine duty?” 

 

“At _least_.” 

 

A quiet snicker preceded a tentative peek. Shy smiles became lazy grins as foreheads touched and fingers intertwined. They lay in silence, only their feet moving in slow caresses. Trevelyan’s eyes followed the soothing rise and fall of chests until Alistair spoke.

 

“Care to join us, perhaps?”

 

Shaky hands gripped wooden armrests as unsteady legs straightened. Certain she was leaving a damp spot, Trevelyan stood, the pounding of her heart drowning out most other noise. Sheets creased, torsos lifted, and intrigued eyes roamed over flushed skin. Though sated bliss still lingered, the attention on her was unmistakable. She’d never been more conscious of her body, of her stark nudity than when she crossed the distance towards the bed.

 

One step. With her walked an acute awareness of how her breasts swayed, engorged and tingling with the intensity of their hungry stares.

 

Three steps, and the cool air did nothing to ease the burn on her skin; she could practically _feel_ them nursing and biting at her rigid nipples.

 

Five wobbly steps had her whimpering at the cruel friction between her legs where she was swollen, slick and ready.

 

Her sixth, breathless step saw dark eyes wandering to the apex of her thighs, all but licking up the layer of glistening nectar.

 

Eight steps. Trevelyan slumped onto the bed, in between her men, dizzy with lust.

 

At once they were at her sides, appraising, perhaps deciding how to ravish her. Alistair was on her left, head propped up on an elbow. Her mouth formed a teeny smile as she shot him a glance- sultry, daring and feminine. Alistair’s eyes narrowed when her finger dipped into the yet-warm spend on his abdomen. 

 

Holding the stare, she purred when her lips closed around the digit, savouring the creamy essence. She arched her spine for a good view of her rear as she leaned in and lapped. Tangy and bittersweet mingled into one sinful flavour, and the utter obscenity of her act made her skin tingle. _At Skyhold she’d let them tie her up. In Denerim she’d made love to Cullen before a huge mirror. Now here she was, at the grand Imperial Palace, slurping semen off the king’s chest._

 

A hand wound into her hair while taut muscles quivered under her lips. “That’s a _naughty_ girl.” Any attempt at jest was ruined by the desire dripping from his every syllable. When something poked at her ribs, Trevelyan sat back…

 

… to see his length stirring, twitching back to stiffness. Flattered as she was, she couldn’t help gawking.

 

Alistair shrugged. “Grey Warden stamina…” He chuckled, turning sideways. “And _your_ excuse is…?”

 

Trevelyan’s eyes followed his. She bit her lip when she saw Cullen sitting up, all but devouring her with a single stare- sporting a proud erection. His eyes remained on her when he spoke, his voice breaking with sincerity. 

 

“ _You._ There’ll never be enough of you.”

 

Caught off guard by his confession, Trevelyan landed flat on her back when he pounced on her a split second later. It wasn’t until she felt his fingers fumbling at her head that she realised she was still wearing her mask. When it came off, a welcome chill stroked her face. Cullen’s whisper now was raw and salacious.

 

“I want to see your face when we make you come.” 

 

Her sigh was both response and encouragement. Before she knew it, she was invaded by hands, lips, tongues, teeth, their smell, pleasuring her like she’d craved all night. Arms resting above her head, she stretched out, inviting them to have their wicked, delightful way.

 

The tip of a long nose brushed against her cheek before Alistair’s silken timbre stroked her ear. “So- are you nice and wet for us, Lady Inquisitor?” Impishly seductive cadence made her pearl jump, and she arched up, offering her breasts, her quim, _all of her._

 

As her eyes slipped shut, her body relaxed into the bed. Luxurious linens rustled and sighs floated through the air as the tangle of limbs writhed and wriggled.

 

Trevelyan never looked, for by now she could identify her _chantry boys_ well enough. She knew that five-o-clock stubble rasping along the underside of her breast, whose lips were that little fuller around her peaks, the calloused fingertips tickling her ribs. And she certainly knew where those moans were coming from.

 

There was no telling time, and she never wanted this night to end. At one point she had a stiff cock in each hand, guiding velveteen skin over steely length, and she was the proudest woman in all of Thedas. 

 

Gradually they became greedier, nipping and stroking that little harder. She almost squealed at the gentle slide of a hand down her stomach. Her hips rose on their own account when two fingers parted her, ghosting over her damp folds. 

 

A hoarse order snapped her out of her reverie. “Look at me.” 

 

Cullen’s irises barely held a fleck of caramel, ebony pupils blown wide with want. His jaw sat in a tight clench, and she knew he was struggling for control.

 

“Did you like watching us?” Warm fingers sank into her then withdrew at the most agonising pace. 

 

“Did you enjoy seeing our king come all over himself?” The digits slid back inside, scissoring, feeling for her delicate spot. Curling when he found it. She whimpered.

 

“What would all these members of court say if they saw the Inquisitor like this?” Pretend curiosity raised his pitch while he kept going, far too slow. “Being pleasured by king _and_ commander? Driving them _absolutely_ mad?” 

 

Two slender fingers slid in from her left, catching her pearl between the swollen labia. She found Alistair studying her with ravenous intensity, chewing on his lower lip as he watched for her reaction. When he began dragging, kneading, she nearly sobbed. But Cullen wasn’t finished either.

 

“Would you like to have us both?” The lascivious suggestion sent a new burst of longing through her, and she squirmed, riding Cullen’s fingers as if driven by a blazing fever.

 

To her frustration, the fingers stilled then withdrew, just as _that_ smirk crept across Cullen’s face. 

 

“I think you might,” he held up two digits, examining their glossy sheen, “because you just got wetter.”

 

Trevelyan could do nothing but watch as he extended his hand towards Alistair. Supple lips closed around Cullen’s fingers as he sucked, hollowing his cheeks, brow furrowing as he groaned in delight.

 

A half-smile, a quick movement, and Cullen’s fingers were back in her while Alistair was still playing with her nubbin. She hissed when Cullen’s free hand yanked Alistair towards him. Eager tongues snuck out, teeth clicked and lips smacked as they shared her juices.

 

Heat coiled deep in her belly, the sight of their eager kiss bringing her ever closer.

 

The hands never stopped, pumping and rubbing. She kept rocking, absorbing every bit of friction as she tugged at her own nipples. At last, that tickle started below her nub, becoming a pull, then a merciless grip. Her back rose, her head rolled and her lips opened in a howl muffled by the sudden impact of Cullen’s lips. The fingers remained inside her as she rode out her release.

 

When her hips stilled and her spine straightened, Trevelyan’s cheeks were burning and her limbs weighed heavy. Cullen’s stubble scraped along her skin as he left trail of kisses along her jawline, down her nose, over her lids. She smiled, stroking his tousled curls as her limbs lengthened in a lazy stretch. Where she’d been engorged and aching a minute ago she was now moist and wonderfully soft, as if she’d melted. 

 

A light suckle at a tender breast had her fingers winding into Alistair’s hair, though she wasn’t sure whether to encourage or ask him to stop. 

 

Then he looked up, all of his usual joviality gone. Unabashed desire burned in his eyes, his expression, his posture. There was no doubt then- she wanted him. Both of them. _Now._

 

Not wasting another second, Trevelyan sat up then moved to the edge of the bed to get on all fours. 

 

Tiny prickles of gooseflesh spread across her skin as she all but trembled with excitement.

 

The mattress dipped behind her, and she grew slicker just at the prospect of being taken, filled, _fucked._

 

A magnificent erection came into view, thick and delicious. At Denerim Palace it had been Cullen claiming her mouth- now Alistair’s cock was straining right before her face, begging to be tasted. 

 

_And who was she to deny him?_

 

One arm remained braced on the mattress as her fingers wrapped around the shaft, coaxing the dearest little hiss out of him. Wide eyes shot a coquettish glance upwards as her tongue appeared, giving a slow lick from base to top. A shudder surged through Alistair, and he sank forward, holding on to her shoulder.

 

At the other end the broad head of another familiar organ teased at her entrance, swirling through her wetness then withdrew when she pushed back.

 

 _Just you wait,_ she thought, spreading her legs a little wider and wiggling her backside, grinning around Alistair at the barely supressed groan.

 

Her tongue continued swirling; licking under the hard ridge; teasing at the slit; lapping as if Alistair’s cock was the most tempting sweet. 

 

At the same time her hand wasn’t idle, working its way up and down, wrist twisting now and then, speeding up as he became more vocal.

 

Trevelyan’s eyes never left Alistair’s as her fingers stilled with a firm grip on him. She smiled, hummed, then swallowed him down in one movement- a skill she’d perfected with her commander as a willing subject. The second Alistair cried out in surprise, Cullen thrust into her in a single, hard stroke. She almost keeled over from the force, yelping around the shaft in her mouth.

 

From this angle Cullen’s girth was even wider, set to split her apart. Hands gripped her hips, and she bobbed into Alistair’s crotch, taking him deeper as Cullen pushed inside.

 

Already having spent themselves once, the knights’ stamina allowed for an unhurried rhythm, a lustful sway of taking and giving. Sharp exhales and throaty moans filled the air as the lovers brought each other higher, floating on a steady wave of pleasure.

 

Trevelyan felt the heat of Cullen’s torso before his lips came to rest against her ear. Affection swelled in her chest and lust tingled in her core as he whispered, just to her; how much he enjoyed seeing her like this, watch her body swallow both of them up; how he never wanted to stop; how he could spend his life pleasuring her.

 

She couldn’t help but moan her agreement, nearly bursting from the utter thrill of being his, _theirs._ Her jaw was sore and walking straight promised to be a challenge tomorrow. But she wanted this, wanted to wake up feeling raw and well-fucked.

 

The smack of her palm on his arse was the signal Alistair needed to thrust into Trevelyan’s mouth, seeking that last bit of friction he needed. Still clutching at her shoulders, his buttocks flexed and his thighs trembled as she took him deeper, faster.

 

Trevelyan hummed in delight as his thrusts became more erratic and his length swelled. A few quick flicks of her tongue, then trimmed nails dug into her shoulders and his thighs shook. Warm, creamy essence hit her tongue as he cried out.

 

She grinned. _So he was the tangy one._

 

When Alistair stilled, slipping from her, she peeked up. His skin tone now rivalled the ginger of his hair, and he failed to supress a lazy, sated yawn. A soft kiss stroked her hair before her disappeared from her vision, leaving her and Cullen to bring each other to completion.

 

And he seemed well on his way, for he grabbed her hair as his hips began pistoling into her. A hiss accompanied each thrust as she was being filled, _stuffed._

 

She succumbed to his rhythm, let herself become one with him on their joint path towards ecstasy, almost forgetting everything else around them.

 

Almost- because there was a shuffle, a hand on her waist, and then…

 

“ _Sweet, holy Maker…_ ”

 

… a warm, slow lap at her sex. The push of a tongue up against her bulb. All while Cullen was still plunging into her.

 

Shock became surprise, then a rush of heat as she looked down herself to see no one but Alistair on his back, facing the foot of the bed.

 

_Slurping._

 

_Sucking._

 

_Smacking his lips as he swallowed._

 

Already she could feel the searing coil deep in her womb. She arched her back, strengthening her grip on the sheets as she prepared to be shaken.

 

A strangled curse paired with Alistair’s name made the blood in her veins pump even harder.

 

_It wasn’t just her he was licking at._

 

If the mere notion didn’t send her tumbling over the edge, then the sudden, hard tug of Alistair’s lips did.

 

All tension, all lust, all of her love erupted from Trevelyan’s body as her world became pleasure. Pleasure she howled out, pleasure that shook her to the core, that made her turn a deep, hot red as Cullen came with a broken growl.

 

When the heavens gently set her down, she caught her breath before rolling onto her side, dragging Cullen with her while careful not to crush Alistair.

 

The heat of arousal gave way to a tranquil glow, and she stretched her arms out at her sides, beckoning her men to cuddle up. She wanted to cradle their heads against her breast, kiss them good night and descend into peaceful sleep together.

 

She never got to, for the door crashed open that instant. The harrowing sound startled the three out of their haze, shocking them back into cruel reality.

A group of five, maybe six guardsmen stormed the room, weapons out, ready to battle whatever intruder might have caused all that noise.

 

Panic clutched at Trevelyan’s chest. Icy shivers ran down her spine as her sweat turned cold. She vaguely noticed Cullen and Alistair’s bodies moving to cover her; flashing their backsides at the Orlesian Imperial Guard in the most feeble effort to protect her modesty, avert the devastating scandal they were spiralling into. Her body, her soul froze as her mind leaped over all the inevitable, life-changing consequences.

 

The dumbfounded soldiers blurred out as her eyes swam with desperate tears.

 

_What had they done…?_

__________________________________________

Trevelyan startles awake, disoriented. Warmth fills her chest and her shoulders relax when she realises she’s on her side, leaning into Cullen’s back. She can make out the yet-peaceful rise and fall of his chest. 

 

Wrapping her left arm around his torso, she snuggles up close. Only when her fingertips trace his abs does she notice how moist she is. She grins.

 

Halfway through her fifth month now, her appetite both for food and Cullen has long since returned. She’s gotten used to the libido-driven dreams, though this one had a specific inspiration. 

 

Later today they’ll leave for Denerim for the much-anticipated royal marriage rites. It’s promising to be quite the feast. Now and then a tiny pang of sadness will nag at her as their threesome days are over, but happiness far outweighs her regrets. At their last visit they’d seen first-hand how thoroughly happy Alistair was with his future queen. They were delighted as he deserves nothing less.

 

And she has little to complain about, set to wake up next to this man for the rest of her days. She pinches a nipple, and there’s a tentative stir.

 

Her lips ghost along his neck as she presses the growing swell of her belly into him. Lately she’s been noticing the tiniest flutters in her womb- too little for Cullen to feel but enough to leave him giddy with joy. Now he’s groaning, his senses rousing. She can’t see his face but knows he’s blinking. A small movement of his head tells her he’s making sense of the situation. 

 

Musk and sleep accompany him as he shuffles to face her, squinting. Trevelyan wastes no time in leaning in, hooks a leg over his hip to draw him close. 

 

She places a few soft kisses along his jawline, on the tip of his nose then his lips. Affection takes the place of confusion in his eyes. Now she can feel another part of him stirring into wakefulness. “Good morning,” he croaks.

 

Delighting in the rasp of his stubble on her cheek, she leans in to whisper into his ear.

 

“I love you, Cullen Rutherford.”

 

His smile lights up the entire room.

THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Tumblr giveaway on now-](http://cullenstairshenanigans.tumblr.com/post/124113166231/cullenstairshenanigans-a-giveaway-you-say/) art and fics to be won!
> 
>  
> 
> So that’s it. Fertig. Finito. The odd one-shot might sneak in like [Nibbles](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4303302) did, but the arc ends here.
> 
> Thank you for reading, liking, commenting, possibly blushing and hopefully laughing.

**Author's Note:**

> When I wrote _Diplomatic Ties_ in January, it was a once-off. Just haven't been able to stop since. Persistent, those three.
> 
> Thank you for reading and following the series!


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